


No One Sees Your Teeth at Your Funeral

by bimmyshrug



Series: Catholic AU [4]
Category: IT (1990), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Abusive Sonia Kaspbrak, Adolescent Sexuality, Blood, Blood and Injury, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Childhood Trauma, Disordered Eating, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak Needs A Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Food Restriction, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Graphic Description, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Psychological Trauma, Religious Content, Religious Guilt, Repression, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Self-Flagellation, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sexual Repression, Sonia Kaspbrak Being Terrible, Teenage Eddie Kaspbrak, Teenage Richie Tozier, Trauma, Whump, babey reddie, big sad, food restriction as a punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:09:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28542327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bimmyshrug/pseuds/bimmyshrug
Summary: Eddie doesn’t remember how old he was the first time he thought about hurting himself on purpose.He just knows it started like a mental itch. Like a distant urge in the back of his mind sometimes while his mom lectured him about being dirty- being sick."You're sick, Eddie. You're getting over your sickness." He knows what that means, because she told him. She’s been telling him since he was little.He doesn’t do it, though. Not for a long time.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: Catholic AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1650472
Comments: 13
Kudos: 91





	No One Sees Your Teeth at Your Funeral

**Author's Note:**

> [Come yell at me for making this AU sad on Tumblr](https://bimmyshrug.tumblr.com/)  
> [CAU playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0YYBs1gHCFGJSkUaDEFl6j?si=Gx1jP2BfQG-BflCEcXeN3w)  
> hooookay. so this fic is going to be really fucking sad and the reason i never posted it is because it brings a really depressing and heavy angst element into this series that i wasn't sure i wanted, but now i do i guess, so.... so here ya go
> 
> please take the tags seriously. there is a heavy heavy tw for self-harm in this fic. graphic descriptions of self-harm injuries, and blood
> 
> also a curate is a dude who is ordained who works as a priest's assistant in a catholic church. in like bigger churches there are curates who help the priest and watch over the flock and do the family counseling aspects of parish care. when i was in church as a kid they basically explained it like "the curate cures the flock" so it's basically like a church therapist who is not actually a therapist and just tells you that praying will fix all of your problems
> 
> i'd say enjoy but it's gonna be sad so...  
> :( love y'all <3

Eddie doesn’t remember how old he was the first time he thought about hurting himself on purpose.

He just knows it started like a mental itch. Like a distant urge in the back of his mind sometimes while his mom lectured him about being dirty- being sick.

"You're sick, Eddie. You're getting over your sickness." He knows what that means, because she told him. She’s been telling him since he was little. 

He doesn’t do it, though. Not for a long time.

He didn’t mean to leave the picture in his pillowcase. Well, he did, but he didn’t expect his ma to look there, because why would she? Eddie knows how to use the washing machine and the dryer. He does his own laundry, he changes his own bedding and washes it. So why would she look there? 

The picture itself is innocuous enough. Innocent enough. Eddie saw it at Keene’s pharmacy some time ago, when he was waiting for his prescription to be filled. Mr. Keene had disappeared behind his partition, and Eddie decided to look through the rack of magazines, as he usually did. 

He flipped through a few magazines absentmindedly, until he saw the picture. He recognized the man in it immediately, because Richie had made him sneak in with him to see The Breakfast Club when it was showing at the Aladdin. Richie had loved it, but something about it made Eddie feel uneasy. He had especially hated John Bender. From the moment his face came onto the screen, Eddie felt an excited hatred fill his chest.

He disliked the movie, but he hated that character so much that it pissed him off to think about him. So he isn’t sure why, standing there in Keene’s, he felt so compelled to take that picture; one of Judd Nelson dressed in character for a photoshoot. But he was. He was so compelled, in fact, that he triple checked to make sure Mr. Keene was still behind the partition before carefully ripping the picture out of the magazine and stuffing it into his back pocket. And then Mr. Keene called his name, and he grabbed the paper bag out of his hands and left the store. 

He forgot about the picture. He honestly had, until he got home that night and changed into his pajamas. He felt it when he took his pants off and pulled it out, regarding it with a sort of disgust. He did not throw it away. Instead, he put it in his pencil case that he keeps in his desk drawer, and didn’t look at it again for a week, until he needed a pen from that case.

And then he saw it again, and thought, _huh._ And he took it out of the case and looked at it for a while, and then he put it back. And then he changed his mind, because he figured his desk drawer is the first place someone would look if they were spying in his room, so he stuffed it into his pillowcase instead to avoid having to explain why he had a picture of Judd Nelson tucked in his desk drawer.

And then he started. Just. Looking at it sometimes. Sometimes before bed, he’d pull it from his pillowcase and just look. He’d look for a good long while, before stuffing it back into its place and turning off his bedside lamp. And that was it. 

And then one day, while he was looking, he started noticing. He noticed the set of his brow, and the curve of his nose, and his eyes. They were nice eyes, he thought. Brown, like his own. Huh. 

And the next time he noticed, he noticed his hair, and how it was long and shaggy, and thought of how his mom would have a fit if his hair was ever that long. He noticed the stubble decorating his chin and wondered what the texture might feel like. He noticed his lips. And then he stopped noticing.

And the next time, he started thinking. Thinking about Judd Nelson and Molly Ringwald in the movie. Molly Ringwald was pretty. She looked sort of like Beverly, with her short, fiery hair and her pale skin. Eddie knew she was pretty. He reminded himself to think about how pretty she was.

But the thinking took on a mind of its own after a few of his private looking sessions, and he knew he was thinking about things he shouldn't. Because mom said, and so did the church Curate, and so did Henry when he was hurting Eddie, and so did everybody. And he knew that they were bad things to think. He knew that. But he hoped that maybe those things weren't as bad if he only, _only_ thought about them during his private looking. Maybe it would be easier not to think them any other time. Maybe God would be proud that he stopped thinking the bad things at other times, and he’d look the other way if Eddie promised only to think them when he was looking at his secret picture. 

But then the thinking turned into something worse, and Eddie started touching. Not every time, but he did. And he felt so sick every time he did it that he would pray right after, begging God to forgive him, because he knew it was a sin. And sometimes when he was touching, he tried to think about Molly Ringwald, and her pretty hair and her nice skin, but it only lasted in flashes before those thoughts disappeared like smoke in the wind.

He’s sure it was obvious to his mom why he had that picture in his pillowcase as soon as she found it. Eddie didn’t think it would be very incriminating, until he got home from school and saw his ma sitting at the kitchen table with the picture in front of her, with her hands folded in front of her face like she was praying. 

And then Eddie notices more things about the picture while it’s sitting on the table in the stark lighting of the kitchen. How creased it is, how worn it is. Where the ink has started to fade from touching it so many times with his fingers. And he knows that she knows as soon as he sees it lying there. 

He still tries to lie, because he is doing a (mostly) good job of keeping his promise to God not to think the bad things unless he’s looking at the picture. So he tries to lie, and say he didn’t know it was there at all. Then he tries to lie and say that he kept it because he wanted to see that movie and never got the chance to because he was too young and he knew ma wouldn’t be happy if he did. He lies and says that he wasn’t thinking the bad things- that he never thought the bad things at all.

But she knows he’s lying, and she spanks him with a broom handle until he loses count and his whole body feels red. And then Eddie figures she must get tired, because she takes out a ruler instead, and whips across his knuckles- his dirty fingers- over and over and only stops when he starts to bleed. And it hurts to sit and lie down and stand and hold things and bend his fingers for so long after. 

And she cries, so much, and she tells him that he’s sick. He’s sick and he needs help, and he’s just got to get better. So Eddie meets with his Curate and prays with him, and sometimes prays with him and his mom at the same time.

And they tell him more about the incurable disease. Father Nell tells him about what hell is like for boys who think about the bad things, and that the bad thoughts are the devil's way of leading him away from God, and that Eddie has failed God, and that he allowed himself to be led away when he gave in to the thoughts. 

So Eddie decides to stop thinking them altogether. Except it isn’t that easy. So he starts pinching when he thinks the bad things. When he does bad things, ma pinches him, so he starts doing it to himself. 

He thinks about the picture. Pinch. He thinks when he’s sitting in class next to Stan. Pinch. He thinks when Bill rides him double on Silver. Pinch. He thinks when he swims with Richie in the quarry, and goes to the arcade with Richie, and gets ice creams with Richie, and has sleepovers with Richie, and wrestles with Richie. Pinch pinch pinch. 

But he tells ma and Father Nell that he never thinks the bad things anymore; he was confused, but now he doesn’t ever think the bad things. And ma is so relieved that she kisses him on his forehead, and she thanks Father Nell for his help, and Eddie says “thank you,” too. 

And he pinches for a long time, but it feels like it doesn’t work as well after a while, and he has to pinch harder to make the thoughts go away. So hard, sometimes, that he makes himself bleed with his fingernails. And he does a good job. He does a really, really good job pinching whenever he thinks the bad things so that he doesn’t think them anymore. 

Except when he doesn’t anymore, because Richie gets his braces off. And Richie is smiling all the time, and Eddie notices. And then Richie hits his first growth spurt. And he starts noticing a lot of things about Richie. Huh. 

And the noticing makes him think more until he’s thinking too much, and the pinches don’t work anymore, and then he starts touching again while he’s thinking and he throws up once after because he feels so guilty. So sick. And he doesn’t sleep that night at all because he stays up, begging God to forgive him and make him better again. Because he was doing so good, and he knows he can be good again if God helps him.

But He doesn’t. And Eddie keeps noticing and thinking and touching, and begging God again and again every time to help him stop. And then he decides he just needs something worse than a pinch. 

And one day, when he gets home from riding bikes with Richie and Bill and Stan, he can’t stop thinking. Because Richie bought a popcorn for them to share at the movies, and Eddie held it in his lap, and his heart leapt every time they would reach for a handful at the same time. And he kept bumping Eddie's shoulder with his. And Eddie ended up leaping on him and wrestling him into the grass in the town park when they rode there afterwards, just because he wanted to feel Richie’s skin against his own.

And he thinks about it when he gets home for so long that he knows he’s going to do something bad if he doesn’t stop, so he pinches, and it doesn’t work. So he digs around in his desk drawer for a while, and he finds his pencil case, and he pulls out his pencil sharpener. Huh.

He breaks it against the wood of his desk and his fingers are shaking so bad when he picks up the razor blade that he’s afraid he'll drop it. But he doesn’t. And he holds it in his hands until it gets warm in his hand before he starts thinking again. And then he squeezes. And he feels it break the skin of his palm, and he gasps, and the thoughts go away for a little while, and then he does it again when they come back. 

So he starts doing that instead of pinching. But he knows ma won’t like it if he’s doing it, so he stops doing it on his palms and starts doing it in easier places to hide. His ankles, at first. 

And it works so well for a while, until he can’t stop thinking no matter how deep he does it, and he ends up touching anyway, and then he does it some more while he prays. 

And eventually, he starts doing it as a punishment instead. He thinks, and then he touches, and then he prays and he does it. And he cries to God, and he thinks God will be happy that he’s started punishing himself so that God doesn’t have to. So that ma doesn’t have to.

And eventually he runs out of room on his ankles, so he does it on his feet so he can still hide them with socks. Then he does it on the inside of his biceps and just doesn’t raise his arms until they've healed, and then he does it around the very, very tops of his thighs so it doesn’t show when he wears shorts.

That's where he’s still doing it the first time Richie sees them the following summer. He isn't even sure what Richie means at first when he asks what happened to his leg while they’re playing NES in his room.

"The fuck are you on about? Stop talking, you're making me lose," he snaps when Richie asks, not bothering to take his eyes off of the screen where his character is punching Richie’s, and Richie’s character isn’t even moving anymore. And that's weird, because Richie never lets him win, so he looks over and sees Richie’s eyes glued to his thigh where nobody is supposed to look. And he panics, and pulls his shorts down further, because he hadn't noticed that they'd ridden up so far. And Richie’s eyes snap up to his after his secret is hidden again, and he looks confused. And Eddie knew he should have worn pants instead, especially because he has fresh secrets there, but it’s just been so hot. And he thought it would be okay, because he’s been careful. Stupid. 

"Your- Your leg. Did you get hurt?" Richie asks, and the TV is still playing sounds of their forgotten boxing match, and Eddie just stares at him. Stares at his confused eyes as they're illuminated by the TV screen in the dark room. And he doesn’t know what to say, so he says no. Fucking stupid. 

"But you have-" 

"Nothing happened, for fuck’s sake. Can we just get back to the game? I was gonna win and you sabotaged it because you're a cheater."

And Richie lets it go, but Eddie doesn’t miss the furrow in his brow that doesn’t go away. He doesn’t acknowledge it, and he wins the game, and he triumphantly stands on Richie’s bed before tackling him into his sheets.

And then several days pass, and Eddie is sure Richie must have forgotten by now. And they decide to walk to the quarry together to go swimming with the others, and Piper comes too. They all have such a good time that Eddie forgets all about it, and lets himself have fun, and he and Richie are on a win streak in chicken when Eddie gets that sick, sinking feeling of realization when Richie’s fingers brush against his secrets over his swim trunks.

And then he thinks about how this isn’t what he should be doing. He shouldn’t be sitting on Richie’s shoulders, and touching him like this, and being close to him like this, even if that’s what the other boys are doing, too.

Because he isn’t like the other boys; he’s sick. And he should know better. And he’s so aware and thinks so much about it that he and Richie lose against Bill and Stan because he isn’t paying attention, and they go falling, and Richie tries to catch him, scrambling to hold Eddie up by his hips before they go plunging into the water.

He doesn’t try to resurface at first, and then Richie heaves him up by his arms, and Eddie breaks into the air to see Richie’s eyes squinting at him in the sunlight, trying to focus on his face without his glasses on. And Eddie notices. He notices Richie’s freckles getting darker in the summer sun, and how his unruly curls lie slick against his head with the weight of the water, and how his laugh sounds when he asks “What the fuck, why did you fuck up our win streak?”

But Eddie doesn’t have a response, so he pulls away from Richie’s hands where they are holding him around the waist, and he pinches over those places on his legs just enough to sting and remind him how bad it all is and that he should stop thinking now before he does something worse.

He still says yes when Richie asks if he’ll stay the night, and Richie takes a shower as soon as they get back, even though Eddie asks to go first. So Eddie waits, and he and Piper sit on Richie’s floor and listen to his records while he’s gone. And then when he comes back with his wet hair sticking to his neck from his shower, he kicks Piper out so he can get dressed. And Eddie leaves too, to go take a shower, because he feels so dirty that he wants to peel off layers of his skin.

He puts the water on too hot but leaves it, and scrubs his hands through his hair and down his body as efficiently as possible before he rinses and wraps himself in a towel. He leaves the bathroom and sees Piper sitting in the hallway, waiting for him to be done so she can shower too.

Eddie wishes he had left his clothes in Piper’s room so he could go in there alone to change, because now he has to go into Richie’s room, and act like getting dressed in front of him is okay and normal, because that’s what boys do with their friends when they aren’t sick. So he takes a breath and opens the door, reminding himself that this is normal for most boys. Most boys shower in front of other boys after gym class. Most boys don’t think bad things when they do.

When he opens the door, Richie is sitting on his bed playing video games while one of his records crackles over the speakers. Eddie thinks it’s The Doors, but he isn’t sure, because his mom doesn’t let him listen to that sort of music.

He walks over to Richie’s closet where he keeps his overnight bag, and Richie turns to look at him for a moment before returning his attention to the screen. That’s good, Eddie thinks. Normal.

He gathers his pajamas (pants, this time), and sets them down on Richie’s desk, and Richie is so focused on the game that he’s playing that he doesn’t look over at Eddie, or even talk to him, and Eddie feels relieved by that. So he rushes as quickly as he can to dry off and pull on his socks and his boxers and his t shirt, and he’s reaching for his pants when Richie says his name, startling Eddie so badly that he flinches, and Richie notices.

“Didn’t mean to startle you, Eds, jeez. Chill out,” Richie teases, lying back on his bed so that his head is hanging over the side of it, looking at Eddie upside down as he tries to catch his breath. But he can’t, and his breaths are wheezing already, and Richie flips over and looks at him curiously.

“You okay, Eds?”

But Eddie can’t respond, so he moves closer and motions for his inhaler, and Richie grabs Eddie’s fanny pack where he left it on his bed and meets him in the middle, pulling out the inhaler and pressing down so Eddie can breathe in the vapor.

He does it a second time, and then Eddie starts to feel okay again, and Richie looks concerned when he pulls it away from Eddie’s lips. “I really didn’t mean to freak you out; I just wanted to know if you want to play Mario with me before dinner.”

“Y-Yeah. But I wanna be Mario,” Eddie replies, because that’s normal for them, and he tries not to desperately glance back at his pants where they still sit on Richie’s dresser, just out of reach.

“As fucking if.”

“That’s not fair! You’re always Mario!”

“Yeah, Eds, because I’m the hero and you’re my sidekick!”

“Like I’d ever be your sidekick!”

“Well I can’t be yours, Eds! The sidekick is always the smaller one; you don’t see Robin hulking over Batman, do you? It’s nature.”

“Luigi is _taller_ than Mario, dumbass!”

“But Mario has taller energy. And you have tiny energy.”

“I just haven’t hit my growth spurt yet, dickwad!”

“Well, if you ever do, we can revisit this argument. Until then, sidekick, I suggest you grab controller number 2,” Richie teases, digging his fingers into Eddie’s ribs, causing him to double over, which spurs Richie on to do it more. And before he knows it, he’s gasping for breath all over again, because Richie is tickling him all over his middle.

“See? Can’t even handle a little tickling, how could I expect you to lead the way into battle, Edward? Weak,” Richie teases, and Eddie tries to pry his hands away but he can’t, and then he loses his balance and falls to the floor, laughing so hysterically that there are tears in his eyes, and Richie follows him down, never ceasing his assault.

“Uncle! Uncle!” Eddie starts screeching, and Richie just smirks at him mischievously.

“Nuh-uh, this counts as a punishment for questioning my status as the hero in this dynamic duo,” Richie teases, bringing his fingers down to tickle Eddie’s hips, sending him shrieking for mercy.

“Richie! Agh, get off!”

Eddie is wiggling, trying so hard to get away that he doesn’t pay much attention to how his shirt drags against the carpet, and how his boxers start riding up in the commotion. He doesn’t think about it at all until Richie suddenly ceases his movements.

Eddie is startled by the abrupt mercy and opens his eyes, finding Richie staring at his thighs again, and he feels so sick he could vomit.

He scrambles to cover his secrets again, but he knows that Richie will know something is up this time, because he definitely saw more of his skin than he did last time. And it’s not dark in here like it was last time, so Eddie is sure he saw the raised white scars amongst the scabbing ones from a few days ago, and the fresh red ones, still congealed with blood.

“Eddie…Eddie, what happened?” Richie asks when his eyes make their way back up to Eddie’s, with that out of place furrow back in his brow. Eddie tries to shove him off angrily, but Richie doesn’t budge past swaying slightly when Eddie’s hands make contact with his shoulders.

“None of your business.”

“Did your mom do that to you?” 

“No!” Eddie shrieks, and he isn’t even sure why he’s jumping so aggressively to her defense, but he’s so angry that Richie even suggested it.

“Did…did you do that? Did you cut yourself?”

“No.” Even Eddie can hear how unconvincing it is. How tiny it sounds.

Richie glances back down at Eddie’s thighs, now covered by fabric, before his eyes dart back up to Eddie’s with confusion and concern mingling in his stormy blue eyes.

“Why?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Eddie-”

“Get off of me, Rich.”

And he does, slowly, moving to plop his butt down on the carpet, his eyes never leaving Eddie’s.

“Why would you-” he starts to ask, but he’s cut off by the door opening before Piper steps through it, toweling off her hair.

“What’s going on?” she asks when she sees them sitting there, and Eddie stands quickly, moving to pick his pants up off of Richie’s desk to tug them onto his legs.

“Nothing. Just gonna play some Mario before dinner. Wanna watch?” Eddie asks her, trying to make his voice sound as normal as possible, though he can barely hear it over his own heartbeat.

“I wanna play,” Piper pouts, and Eddie shrugs.

“Sure, you can play instead if you want. Richie was gonna make me be Luigi anyway, so be my guest.”

Piper rolls her eyes, tossing her towel into Richie’s hamper. “Luigi is better anyway.”

“As if!”

Richie silently stands from the floor, moving over to his bed to sit down before holding out the player 2 controller to Piper. She jumps onto his bed and folds up her legs, grabbing the controller from him as he starts a new game.

Eddie grabs a random comic out of the pile on Richie’s dresser before climbing onto the bed as well, sitting behind the siblings. He alternates between watching the screen and pretending to read the comic, and he’s very aware of the glances that Richie keeps giving him over his shoulder the entire time.

Eventually, Maggie’s voice calls up to them that dinner is ready, and they all run downstairs. They find their seats at the table as Maggie is placing a pitcher of lemonade in the center with the rest of the food, which is all hamburgers and hot dogs and corn and potatoes that Went just finished grilling outside.

“Did you guys have fun swimming? It was pretty hot out today,” Went asks, serving himself an ear of corn and a cheeseburger.

“Yeah, Billy even found a turtle. He said it was probably a snapping turtle, though, so we didn’t touch it. Just looked. It was pretty ugly,” Piper responds, and Went laughs.

“Snapping turtles usually are. Evil little things.”

“I see somebody forgot their sunscreen,” Maggie remarks with a raised eyebrow, pointing at the sun-reddened band of skin over the top of Riches cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

“I didn’t! I put some on, I think it just washed off in the water,” Richie defends, and Eddie scoffs.

“You didn’t use enough, and anyway, I told you that you’re supposed to reapply every two hours when you’re swimming and getting sweaty and stuff. I told you so,” Eddie tells him sassily, and Maggie laughs.

“Oh whatever, Eds. Sorry we can’t all crisp up golden brown like a rotisserie chicken,” Richie grumbles, taking too big of a bite out of his hot dog.

“Are you calling me a chicken? Because I’ll fight you, and win.”

“First of all, no you won’t; you haven’t once in your life,” Richie starts with his mouth full, and swallows before continuing. “And second, I was simply pointing out the fact that you have an unfair advantage since you never get sunburned, you just get all tan.”

“It’s because I wear sunscreen and reapply every two hours when I go swimming,” Eddie tells him smugly, squirting ketchup onto his cheeseburger bun.

 _“It’s because I wear sunscreen, meh meh meh,”_ Richie mocks, and Eddie narrows his eyes at him before sticking his tongue out, and Went and Maggie are laughing at them the whole time.

“What did you do today, Momma?” Piper asks, and Maggie smiles warmly at her, her eyes lighting up.

“Well, let’s see. I did a lot of yardwork, spent some time getting the garden in shape before we start planting for fall. I took a nice, long, quiet nap since I was by myself for most of the day, and then I finished off with reading until you kids got home. So overall, a pretty great day.”

“Sounds boring,” Richie grumbles.

“When you’re an old, boring adult with three kids running around your house all day, you’ll appreciate a little quiet time too, trust me,” she jokes, and Eddie’s heart flutters at the implication that he is included as part of the family.

“Oh! Momma, can we go to the library tomorrow? I finished all the books I took out last week,” Piper asks before shoveling a forkful of potato into her mouth.

“We can just ride our bikes there tomorrow, squirt,” Richie says, and Piper pouts.

“No, ‘cos the librarians don’t let me take out the books in the adult section unless mom or dad is with me.”

“What kind of books are you trying to read, Piper? Jesus.”

Piper rolls her eyes, flicking a piece of potato at her brother.

“Shut up, they’re just old art books. I think they keep them with the adult books because they don’t want kids to mess up the pages,” Piper shrugs, and Richie frowns.

“Why are you guys so lame?”

“It’s not lame! It’s really cool! I got a book about Salvador Dali last time that was really neat, and-”

“Booooooring,” Richie draws out, and Piper huffs.

“You’re boring.”

“Solid comeback, been thinking that up all day?”

“You’re a jerk.”

“God, Piper, please! No more! My ego can’t take another hit!”

“I actually think you’d like some of his paintings, Rich. He was a surrealist painter, so they’re all of weird landscapes and animals that don’t really exist, and melting clocks, and all kinds of wacky stuff. Maybe you should let Piper show you a few of them in her books before we bring them back to the library,” Maggie suggests lightly, and Richie purses his lips.

“Well…well I guess that could be cool. I thought it was all just gonna be, like, bowls of fruit and stuff, and people standing in front of fireplaces.”

“That stuff is usually in Dutch Golden Age paintings,” Piper comments, and Richie rolls his eyes.

“Alright, nerd, I’ll look at the melty weird ones, but that’s it. I don’t want your dorkiness rubbing off on me.”

Piper just sticks her tongue out, and Richie moves like he’s going to grab it with his fingers, and she snaps her mouth shut with a yelp while he laughs.

“Did you have to do anymore tooth surgeries today?” Eddie asks Went, and he smiles softly.

“Not today, mostly just braces and check-ups. The boring stuff.”

Richie shudders dramatically and Went laughs.

“Don’t even say that word around me. A year and a half of pure hell.”

“And look how nice and beautiful your smile is now. You’re welcome, by the way,” Went sasses back with a smirk, and Richie scoffs.

“I’d rather have crooked teeth the rest of my life than have that torture device poking at my cheeks ever again,” Richie grumbles, subconsciously licking over his teeth.

“That reminds me, have you been wearing your retainer?”

Richie goes rigid, and Went raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to end up back in my office, Rich?”

“I just forgot today, I’ll wear it tomorrow,” Richie admits, stabbing at his potato.

“You better. Or else that year and a half of pure hell will all have been for nothing, and you might even have to do it all over again, and I don’t think either of us want me poking around inside your mouth anymore than I have to.”

“Over my dead body.”

“And then it would really be a waste, since no one sees your teeth at your funeral,” Eddie shrugs, and Richie snorts lemonade out of his nose.

They finish up dinner and watch TV, and Eddie nearly convinces himself that he can go 2 for 2 with Richie letting the whole situation go once all three of them are piling into Richie’s bed, and Eddie feels himself drifting off to the sound of Piper’s soft snoring. He is nearly asleep when he feels someone shaking his shoulder, and he blinks slowly, struggling to open his eyes.

“Eds, come onto the roof with me.”

Eddie sighs, rubbing his sleepy eyes. “No. Tired.”

“Come on.”

“No.”

“Eds.”

“Rich.”

He hears Richie sigh in what he hopes is defeat, and rolls over to resume sleeping. No such luck.

“It’s nearly a full moon so it’s really bright and pretty outside. No clouds. You can see all the stars. I’ll even grab you a sweatshirt if you’re cold.”

Well. That does sound nice. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to go look for just a little while.

Eddie sighs and rolls back over, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“’Kay.”

“Sweet.”

“But it has to be your blue hoodie with the white sleeves or else I’m not coming.”

“Come on, dude, that’s my favorite sweatshirt!”

“Take it or leave it.”

“Why that one? Can’t you just wear the black one?”

“No. Not as comfy.”

“You’re a brat.”

“You woke me up and you’re trying to drag me out of bed, turd burglar.”

“So you’re making me buy your company with my favorite sweatshirt?”

“It’s not like I’m gonna shit in it; I took a shower today. I’m not gonna make it dirty wearing it for, like, an hour.”

Richie sighs, this time definitely in defeat.

“Fine.”

Eddie smiles smugly in the dark, finally crawling off of Richie’s bed and onto the floor. Piper is jostled in the process, but immediately falls back to sleep, snoring once again.

“You don’t want Piper to come?”

“Are _you_ gonna try and wake her up? After last time, I’m lucky I still have both of my fucking arms.”

Richie comes up behind him then and plops the sweatshirt onto his head, which Eddie gratefully stuffs himself into. It’s still so soft inside, even though Richie has had it a long time, and it’s nice and big. Well, at least on Eddie, it is.

They sneak out of Richie’s room and over to Piper’s, where Richie carefully opens the window beside her bed- the one that leads onto the roof above their front porch. He stuffs his lanky body through the frame before turning around on his butt, reaching in to help pull Eddie out, too.

It’s colder than he thought it would be. Summer is nearly over, but he doesn’t think it should already be so chilly at night. He tucks himself further into Richie’s sweatshirt.

“The moon is so bright,” he notes, staring up at the three-quarters-full sphere of light, admiring how it casts an impressive glow on the eerily empty neighborhood surrounding them. “What time is it, anyway?”

Richie shrugs. “I donno. Around 2, I think.”

“You woke me up at 2am to sit out in the cold with you?”

“I thought you’d like it. How clear it is outside and stuff. Quiet, you know. You’re always looking at the moon,” Richie says softly, picking at his nails.

Eddie’s breath catches in his lungs for a moment before he forces himself to let it out. “I was just joking. I do like it. Thanks for showing me.”

“Anything for you, Eddie my love,” Richie sighs, stretching out to lie down on the roof. Eddie follows suit, tucking himself against Richie’s side.

“You still cold?”

“Yes.”

Richie wraps an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and rubs. “You’re always cold.”

“Not always. It was so hot last week, I felt like I was melting.”

“Yeah, I noticed you busted out the extra-short shorts,” Richie chuckles, and Eddie lands a half-hearted punch to his hip.

“Shut up.”

“I’m not judging.”

“You sound judgy.”

“Trust me, I’m not.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Richie breathes out a single laugh. “Nothing, Eds.”

Eddie just pouts, tucking himself closer into Richie’s arm. They sit there in the silence for a while, just looking up at the sky, dotted with stars and illuminated by the moon. Eddie feels so enamored with the moon sometimes- so overwhelmed by it that it makes him weirdly emotional. He isn’t sure why, but it feels sort of the same as when he goes down to the barrens after a day of rain, when the sun is shining brightly in the sky and the plants are all so lush and green that it looks like a painting. Or that time that he went with the Toziers to Acadia National Park, and he got to see the world from the top of Cadillac Mountain, and he had to turn away so Richie wouldn’t see him crying and make fun of him.

He’s lost in thought, tracing his own constellations into the stars dotting the sky when Richie speaks again, so quietly that Eddie thinks he hears it more in the vibrations of his body than the actual sound of his voice.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, Eddie?”

“Nothing to tell,” Eddie replies automatically.

“Eddie, I saw those cuts on your legs. The first time- The first time I thought maybe I was just, like, seeing things. But I know what I saw earlier today. So don’t lie to me.”

Eddie says nothing, and he’s trying to figure out the best way to get up and go back inside without causing an argument.

“Is it because of your mom?”

“Why are you so fucking obsessed with my mom,” Eddie snaps at him, and it comes out much harsher than he intended.

But Richie doesn’t make a joke like Eddie half expects him to. “I just- I noticed the way she is with you sometimes. And…I don’t know. It seems…like it must be hard to be treated like that, and told the things that she tells you. And I know you don’t like to talk about it. But I’m worried that she’s been doing something really bad to you, if you’ve been hurting yourself.”

The gentle tone and the sincerity of the statement has Eddie panicking, and he sort of wants to run away, because he doesn’t know what to do with _this_ Richie. He sees this Richie so rarely, and every time, it almost scares Eddie into hiding.

“It’s complicated.” Eddie knows how lame of an excuse that is as soon as it leaves his lips.

“I’ll try to keep up.”

Eddie sighs, closing his eyes.

“Can you please just let this go?”

“Not really, no. Cutting yourself is like…like a big deal, Eddie.”

“It’s really not that big of a deal. I don’t do it, like, all the time or anything. It’s just sometimes, when I need to, and- and I’ve been a lot better, lately. I haven’t even been doing it that often,” Eddie lies.

“Eddie…I know my glasses are pretty fucking thick, but you know I’m not blind, right? I _saw._ I saw the fresh cuts too. There are a lot.”

“I’m trying to stop.”

“Why are you doing it in the first place?”

Eddie bites his cheek so hard that he tastes blood.

“There must be a reason, right? You haven’t- You haven’t always done this. So what happened?”

“It makes me feel better.” Half-truth.

“Better about what?”

“About…about everything, I guess.”

“Eddie, please just tell me what’s wrong,” Richie asks so quietly, so desperately, that it almost sounds like begging.

“There’s nothing to tell, Richie.”

“Does it have to do with why you were spending so much time at church a little while ago?”

The question triggers his gag reflex so badly that he has to swallow to stop himself from audibly heaving. He doesn’t answer, and Richie is quiet for a few moments longer.

“How long have you been doing this?”

“A little while. Since…since around last Halloween, I guess.”

“Is that what the scars on your ankles are from?”

Eddie flexes his feet on reaction. “I didn’t think- I didn’t think they were that noticeable. I never did it that deep there.”

“They’re not, not really. I just….” Richie trails off and doesn’t finish his thought.

Instead, he starts a new one. “Is it because you’re sad?”

An interesting question. “Not really. Not usually.”

“Is it because you’re anxious?”

“Yeah, sometimes.”

“Does something specific happen that makes you want to hurt yourself?”

Eddie hesitates before this one. “Y-Yes.”

“Can you tell me what it is?”

Silence.

“Eddie…is someone…is someone, like… hurting you?”

Eddie freezes. “Do you mean- Do you mean, like-”

“You can tell me if that’s what it is.”

“It’s not!” Eddie nearly screeches, then he lowers his voice. “It’s- Fuck- No, Richie. It’s not that.”

He takes a deep breath, trying to build up any amount of confidence to tell a partial truth. “I’ve just been disappointing my mom lately. All the time. And I was doing a lot better for a while, but…but then I got bad again, and it helps me to stop misbehaving so much. And then my mom is happier, and then she doesn’t- doesn’t punish me, and make me go to church all the time, and ground me and keep me at home.”

“So…so you’re punishing yourself? So that your mom won’t?”

“I guess.”

“Eddie, no offense or anything, but…your mom is, like, kookoo. She gets upset about the weirdest stuff. I’m sure whatever you’re doing, it’s not that bad.”

Eddie just shrugs, because he _is_ doing something that bad, but he can’t tell Richie that or else Richie won’t want to be around him anymore. Richie won’t let him wear his sweatshirts anymore, and he won’t hold him when he’s cold, and he won’t invite him out to look at the stars.

“I just don’t want to talk about this anymore. Can we please stop talking about this now?”

“Y-Yeah, Eddie, sure. But first, um…you know, you can reach out to me when you’re feeling like you want to hurt yourself. Even if you just need, like, a distraction. I can be that for you, if you need it.”

Eddie wants to laugh, because being around Richie is the last thing that’s going to distract him from the thoughts that make him want to hurt himself.

“I know, Rich. Thanks.”

“Please try to stop, okay?”

“I will.” He’s been trying, he’s been trying his whole fucking life to stop.

Eddie doesn't take Richie up on his offer, and a week later, he realizes that was a bad idea.

He's home from hanging out in the arcade with Richie and Bill, where Richie spent most of his time trying to teach Eddie how to play Street Fighter. And he honestly probably would have gotten the hang of it better if Bill was the one trying to show him, because Bill doesn’t make him feel the way Richie does. Sometimes he really likes the way Bill's hair catches sunlight, and the way he smiles while he’s riding on Silver, like he’s the freest he’s ever been.

But mostly he wishes Billy was his big brother, which isn’t okay to tell him since he isn’t a big brother anymore. Eddie thinks that would be more cruel than anything, but he still privately wishes it, especially when Bill checks up on him to make sure he’s okay, and musses Eddie's hair, and always has extra lunch money for when Eddie's mom forgets his.

He doesn’t think the bad things about Bill. Not like he does with Richie. And Richie decided the best way to teach him how to play would be to stand right behind Eddie, pressed against his back, guiding his hands over the buttons and the joystick with his own. And the whole time, Eddie was so focused on the way Richie’s hands felt around his, and the way his heart raced when Richie leaned forward and pressed their bodies flush, and how much more beautiful his laughter sounded when it was right above his ears.

So he sits in his room at home and tries to forget about it. And maybe he should have said yes when Richie asked if he wanted to come over for dinner, but he couldn't stop thinking about how Richie was talking so quietly and so close to his ear that it made his entire body light up, so he decided he was better off saying no.

Except it didn’t really help at all, because now he’s sitting in his room and thinking about the bad things. And he keeps trying to do other things- to read, or tidy up, or work on finishing his summer reading work for school- but then he'll think about the heat of Richie’s body behind him, and Richies voice praising him ( _Good job, Eds! You're doing awesome_ ).

It keeps worming its way deeper under his skin until he’s thinking about the things he _really_ shouldn’t, like Richie’s hair and his lips and how big his hands are now that he’s so tall. And how that hair might feel in his fingers, and how those lips might feel against his, and how those hands would feel against his skin in places that friends should not touch.

And Eddie hates himself when his body decides to react to these ponderings, and he gets itchy. He starts considering how bad it really is if he touches himself, since he’s going to hell anyway. And even though he knows he shouldn't do things like that, he figures it isn’t _so_ so bad, since he’s not really going to kiss Richie on the lips or run his hands over his freckled shoulders, so it's not as bad to think about it, right? Since he'd never actually do it.

But all of that reassurance he’s offered to himself disappears once he’s done, and he just feels ashamed and sickened with himself.

Why can’t he think these things about Piper, or Beverly? When he tries, it makes him feel so anxious. But they feel like sisters to him, so maybe that's why. But he knows it isn’t.

He’s sick. He’s so sick, and he should go tell ma and Father Nell that he’s sick- really, _really_ sick this time- and that he needs help again.

But he can’t, because ma said if this happened again, she would send him away. He remembers sitting in the Curate's office with ma and looking over brochures for places down south with names like "Holy Acres" and "Light of Salvation Boys' Camp," and Father Nell telling him that places like these help boys like him, but that he'd have to go away for a while, and ma said that was an option she didn’t want to have to resort to.

He asked Father Nell what they do there and how they'd help him, and he just kept saying things like "they'll help you rediscover Jesus" and "they'll teach you how to free yourself from the demons that possess you," which didn’t really answer his questions. But the idea of it alone is terrifying enough; being sent away from home to a place where he doesn't know anyone, but they'll all know why he’s there and that he’s sick.

The lessons he did with Father Nell were already bad enough. He couldn't imagine what those camps would be like… if they'd do worse to him than make him confess his sins while they whack across his knuckles and palms and wrists like Father did, and like ma still does when she thinks he’s dishonest with her about being bad. If they'd keep him from meals for even longer than ma does when he's caught lying.

He can’t tell them. He knows God isn’t really listening at this point anyway; he’s prayed about it every night like Father Nell said to, and it still hasn’t helped, even if Eddie has lied and said that it has. Most of the time he feels like he’s praying to nobody, because if God really loves him, he doesn’t understand why he won’t help Eddie get better.

But he can’t think like that. God doesn’t solve all your problems; he gives you the opportunity to solve them yourself. He doesn't stop you from sinning; he gives you the strength necessary to stop yourself. That's what Father Nell says.

But Eddie isn’t strong enough, and God doesn’t seem to want to give him the strength. Maybe it’s because God knows he’s a lost cause, and he can’t really blame Him. God is probably more sickened by Eddie than he is with himself, because God created him, and Eddie must be one of his biggest disappointments.

He considers telling Richie, just because he wants to know how bad it really is, but he can't. Richie would be so disgusted by him. He'd be sick at the thought of touching Eddie ever again, or sharing a bed with him, or playing chicken with Eddie sitting on his shoulders. He'd be horrified knowing Eddie thinks about him that way, and he would never speak to him again. He knows Richie wouldn't tell anybody, because Richie is a good person, and that's almost worse. How is he supposed to confess to his best friend that he has sick, horrible thoughts about him, when Richie is the best person he’s ever known in his life?

He couldn't bear it. The horrified look in his blue eyes, how he'd recoil from Eddie's touch…

_Eddie, what the fuck? I've let you sleep in my fucking bed, dude. I let you lick off of my push pop; were you trying to give me fucking AIDS?_

Or worse, if he were kind about it, because Richie is too good of a person to say what he'd really feel.

_Oh, fuck, Eds. That sounds really shitty. Sorry about that._

And then he'd just stop inviting Eddie to the arcade, and to sleepovers, and he'd eventually stop talking to him altogether. So much worse.

Eddie doesn’t realize how deep he’s cutting until he drops the razor in the bathtub because his fingers are so slippery with blood. So he finally looks down, and his breath sticks in his throat when he looks at his legs, because his lap is a mess of gashes. More than he usually does at one time, and deeper- too deep, he worries.

He turns the shower on to rinse off his legs and cries out at the stinging pain, and the panic only rises. There are two cuts on his left thigh that are still dripping fresh blood that runs down his legs before swirling into the drain. He doesn’t know what the fuck to do.

Ma is down at the church until 10, and it's not like he could tell her, anyway; he doesn’t want to imagine what her reaction might be. So he decides to just get out of the shower and do his normal routine and hope that it’s fine, because there’s really nothing else he can do. But the blood is already running in thin red rivers down his legs by the time he makes his way to sit on the toilet, struggling the whole way because his legs are shaking so badly.

He grabs his first aid kit off the counter (the one he saved up change to buy so ma wouldn’t know he has it), and his stomach drops when he realizes how few bandages he has left. So fucking stupid. Why didn’t he check beforehand? He can’t use the small, regular bandages on the deepest cuts, and he only has one piece of gauze left. He cleans the wounds up the best he can, and the blood is slowing down but it still won’t stop. He gets blood all over the medical tape in the process of trying to get the gauze to cover both cuts. But it isn’t working.

He feels so sick with anxiety that he might vomit, which would be bad because he’s already feeling faint. He doesn’t know what the fuck to do. He can’t call his mom- he _can’t._

If he tried to go to the doctor, they would end up telling his mom, anyway. He could try riding his bike to Keene’s to get more bandages and butterfly stitches if he can find money around the house, but he’s sure he'd bleed through his pants on the way there, and he can barely walk with how shaky his legs feel.

The only other person who even knows is Richie, and he can’t tell Richie either, because Richie would be so sad that Eddie didn’t do what he asked and call him when he felt like hurting himself. Richie would be so disappointed in him. He can't tell Richie.

But there’s already blood soaking through the gauze, and he needs to fucking do something, and he would rather have Richie know how pathetic and demented he is than attempt to explain this to his mother without being hospitalized. So he holds the gauze against his leg and waddles out into the hallway to grab the cordless phone, and he doesn't think he’s ever felt more pathetic in his life than he does sitting naked and bloody on the hallway carpet, waiting for someone at the Toziers' to pick up the phone.

What if Richie isn’t even home? He said he was going home when they left the arcade, but he might have made plans with Bill when Eddie said he couldn't come over. What if the other Losers are at his house? What if-

"Tozier residence," Maggie's soft voice crackles through the phone, and Eddie feels a dizzying mix of relief and panic, because he was really fucking hoping it would be Richie on the other end.

"Hi, Miss Maggie. It’s Eddie," he tries to say calmly, but it sounds forced.

"Hey sweetheart, everything okay?" Maggie asks gently, and Eddie can practically see the worried furrow in her brow.

"Yeah, everything is good. I was just wondering if Richie is there? I have a question about _To Kill a Mockingbird_ , and since he read it for summer work last year, I figured he'd be the best person to ask," Eddie makes up on the spot, and Maggie's hesitation has his heart pounding.

"Yeah, honey, of course. He’s upstairs, I'll go get him," she says after her moment of silence, and Eddie feels relief crash through him again.

"Thanks so much!"

"Of course. We'll see you soon, Eddie."

"See you."

There are a few moments of silence, then the faint sounds of shuffling around before Richie’s voice booms through the phone so suddenly that Eddie yelps.

"Spaghetti! I'll try my best to help you out but I fucking hated that book, so just assume everything I say is probably wrong."

"Richie, I need help," Eddie says immediately, and Richie laughs.

"Yeah Eddie, do you have fucking dicks in your ears? I know you need help, I said I'll try my best but I'm not-"

"No, no. Rich, I need...I need _help_ ," Eddie stresses, hoping that it’ll clear everything up. And apparently it does.

"What's going on? What happened?" Richie already sounds frantic, and Eddie starts getting frantic again, too.

"I-I-I fucked up, bad, and- and I can't- it won’t stop bleeding, and-"

"I'll be there in a minute."

"Wait!" Eddie screams into the phone, and he thinks he hears Richie gasp. "I-I- do you have any-any bandages? Because I need- I don’t have-"

"What do you need? I'll go get it, just tell me what you need," Richie sounds panicked- almost _scared-_ and Eddie hates it, because Richie is never scared, ever.

"I need- I need butterfly bandages and antiseptic, and gauze. Please. I promise I'll pay you back, okay? I don't- I don’t have the money right now, but I promise when I-"

"I'll be right there," Richie says quickly, then hangs up the phone.

Eddie's heart is fucking hammering in his chest, and he knows he should put clothes on before Richie gets here, and probably go downstairs to unlock the door for him, but he feels like all of his energy has been sucked out of him. He knows Richie knows where the spare key is hidden out front so he doesn’t worry so much about that, but he can’t let Richie find him naked and bleeding like this. He'd rather be dead than let that happen.

So he manages to drag himself up the wall and walks to his room. It's more of a hobble, really, with one hand holding the gauze onto his leg the whole time. He manages to get a pair of boxers onto his legs (black, so the blood wont stain), but he has to pull the hem up as high as it’ll go to stop it from rubbing against the wounds. He pulls a shirt on too, and then sits down on his bed, already so exhausted that he feels like he might fall asleep. His leg has mostly stopped bleeding at this point, but it looks so gnarly when he lifts the gauze that he doesn’t want to investigate further than that.

In a startlingly short amount of time, he hears the front door open and shut, and he panics that it might be his mom until he hears Richie's quick footsteps stomping up the stairs. But then he starts crying, because Richie really came, and he’s so fucking relieved, and he feels so ashamed.

"Richie," he cries out in a sob, and Richie bursts through his door a moment later, heaving in breaths and with a Keene’s Pharmacy bag in his hand.

"Let me see," he says immediately, pulling bandages and antiseptic and cotton balls and rubbing alcohol and med tape and way more stuff than Eddie asked for out of the bag after running over to Eddie's bed and gently climbing onto it, crowding into Eddie's space.

"N- No, it's okay. I can do it myself. Thank you for getting this stuff for me," Eddie tries, but Richie’s panicked eyes are unconvinced.

"Eddie, that looks like a lot of fucking blood. Are you sure you don’t need stitches?"

Eddie cringes, because _no_ , because he _can’t_ need stitches. He reaches for the box of bandages and tries to calm down.

"No, I'm okay. I'll- I'll just-”

"Eddie, you're shaking too badly. Just let me do it," Richie says softly, reaching out his hand to gently grab Eddie’s wrist.

"Richie, you don't need to-"

"I know," Richie says, then tears the box of butterfly bandages open with his teeth.

He gently rests his hand on top of Eddie's and tries to lift the gauze, but Eddie resists.

"Eddie, please just let me help. Please."

"You're gonna- You’re gonna be mad at me," Eddie cries, and Richie’s eyes get watery as he reaches out to hold Eddie's cheek in his hand.

"Eddie, I would _never_ be mad at you for this, okay? I promise, I'm not mad. I just want to help," he says calmly, and Eddie feels like such a fucking fuck up, because Richie shouldn’t even need to be here at all. But he is.

"O-Okay."

He lifts his hand and takes the gauze with it, and the way Richie’s eyes widen tells him that it’s as bad as he thinks it is.

"Eddie…" Richie breathes quietly, and it sounds thick and sticky in his throat.

"I'm sorry.”

"Don’t be sorry. Tell me if I hurt you, okay?"

He opens the antiseptic and the cotton balls to dab them against Eddie's cuts, and the amount of blood on the white balls when he tosses them into Eddie's wastebasket has him feeling nauseous all over again. He gasps in pain when Richie starts applying the butterfly stitches, and Richie pauses, frowning apologetically at him. Eddie just shakes his head and bites his tongue, waiting for it to be over.

Once he finishes applying the bandages, Richie uses the rubbing alcohol and some gauze to wipe the blood off of Eddie's skin. He looks so sad and so pale that Eddie wants to cry all over again.

"T-Thank you," he says meekly when Richie is done, and Richie nods before standing from his bed and walking in the direction of the bathroom, presumably to wash Eddie's blood off of his hands.

Eddie wishes he were dead by now, and he honestly wishes he had just let whatever might have happened happen instead of dragging Richie further into his train wreck of a life. Richie doesn’t deserve this. Nothing he can do about that now, though.

When he comes back into the room, he’s holding something in his hands, and Eddie feels hot shame wash over him again once Richie sits back down on his bed and he realizes that it's the razor blade.

"I-I feel like I should take this, but I'm afraid that if I do, you'll just get more," Richie says calmly, placing the blade on Eddie's night table.

"I already have more," Eddie blurts before thinking, then wishes he could take it back because of the crushing hurt that drowns Richie’s features.

"Eddie, I'm so fucking worried about you," Richie whispers. It's such a broken sound, and Eddie never wants to hear it again.

"I'm okay Rich, I just- just fucked up this time and wasn’t being careful, okay? It won’t happen again; I'm sorry you had to come here and-"

"I just wish you’d call me before hurting yourself next time. Please. Please just tell me when you're feeling this way, and I'll come right over. I don’t care if its fucking 3am, I'll be here in a heartbeat."

"I....I will. Next time. I promise, I will."

"I know that this isn’t something you even wanted me to know, but you know I'd never judge you, right? You know I'll always be there for you? You can tell me anything."

It's so earnest and so sincere that Eddie almost lets himself believe that it’s true.

"I know, Rich. Thank you so much, for everything. You're- You're such a good person," Eddie tells him through his tears, and Richie leans in closer to him.

"Is it okay to hug you?"

Eddie nods, and Richie carefully climbs back onto his bed, wrapping his arms around Eddie to pull him to his chest. And Eddie collapses, crying so hard that his lungs hurt, and Richie rubs his back until he calms down.

It takes a while, but eventually he does, and then he starts worrying about the mess.

"Rich, I have to- I have to clean this all up before my mom gets back. If she sees-”

"Its fine, I got it. Don’t worry," Richie tells him, and Eddie shakes his head violently.

"N- No, you can’t. I got blood in the tub and on the counter in the bathroom, and I left my first aid kit in there. And I have to empty my wastebasket, and-”

"Eddie, I got it. Just chill, okay? I'll be back," Richie says dismissively, then stands from Eddie's bed. He disappears out the door and Eddie decides to just lie down and cry and feel sorry for himself, since he can’t do much else without moving his wounds too soon. He lies there for so long that he cries himself half to sleep, and he only wakes up when he feels Richie crawl into his bed again, this time lying down next to him. He reaches a hand out to hold Eddie's, rubbing his knuckles and the back of his hand with his thumb.

"I cleaned everything up and took the trash outside. I just shoved it into the kitchen trash since it was pretty full and took the whole thing out."

"Thank you so much, Rich."

"I don't want you to thank me."

"I don't know what else to say."

"I know. I'll take you at your word that you'll try to call next time before doing this, and that's enough.”

"'Kay," Eddie whispers, and Richie lets go of his hand to reach over the edge of his bed.

"I got you some water and a chocolate bar too, since you should probably eat some sugar. Did you eat dinner yet?" Richie asks, handing him a water bottle and a Hershey's with almonds.

Eddie looks at them in his hands, and something about them makes him want to cry all over again. "No, mom is gone until late so I just wasn’t gonna eat."

"Why didn’t you come over?"

Eddie just shrugs, and Richie frowns at him.

"I thought you were having a good day," he says quietly, and Eddie's heart shatters.

"I did! I had- I had the best day, Richie. It’s not- it’s nothing to do with you," Eddie lies, but it isn’t Richie’s fault, so he still says it. "I just get...I get like this sometimes, and it's not always something I expect. It just happens sometimes. It's not- Nothing happened, okay?"

"But you said before that it's something specific that makes you want to cut."

Eddie sighs. "It...it is, but it's not, like, something that anyone else does other than me, okay? It's my fault. It's me."

"It’s not your fault, Eddie. You couldn’t possibly be doing something so terrible that you think you deserve- deserve _this._ "

"I am, though. I am, and I don't know how to explain to you without- without you hating me or never wanting to speak to me again, and-”

"Eddie, I could never fucking hate you. I want to talk to you all the fucking time. Who the fuck else would dominate in chicken fights with me and be my Luigi if I didn’t have you?" Richie jokes lightly, and Eddie's heart feels like its hanging from a noose.

"R-Rich, you wouldn't understand, trust me."

Richie shrugs. "Maybe not, but it wouldn't stop me from trying to."

Eddie almost lets himself believe that it might be so easy to open his mouth and say _Richie, I like boys. I like you the way that you like girls, and I don’t think I like girls at all._

That Richie might smile softly at him and say, _It’s okay, Eddie. I wouldn't hate you for that._

Or maybe smirk and say _Awe shucks Eds, you've got the hots for me?_

But he'd never, ever say _Me too, Eddie. I like boys too, and I like you, and I want to kiss you too._ So Eddie settles for another half-truth.

"I just have been... questioning God a lot lately, and doing things I know I shouldn't do. I don't even know if I believe that God is real anymore."

"Well, Eddie...I'm not, like, religious, you know? I wouldn't be mad at you for that, dude. I think...I mean, like I said, I'm not religious, but I feel like it's pretty normal to question stuff like that. Like if God is real and suff. There's a lot about religion that it's good to question."

"My mom says that questioning God is the first stumble down a slippery slope.”

"Eddie, that's horseshit. No offense, but like, your mom thinks a lot of things that aren't true. There's so much shit in the Bible that doesn't make any sense, it would be stupid not to question it. Like you can't eat seafood, right? But you can have an incest baby if there's no one left to have babies with, and that's like, totally kosher. It's just sort of dumb, dude. No offense or anything, but your mom is wrong, dude. It's good to question shit that you don't understand about your religion instead of just taking their word for it. Blind faith is stupid."

"But this...this thing that I’ve been struggling with...it's pretty objectively bad. Like- Like society thinks it's bad, too. Everyone does."

"Well, what is it, Eds? Been murdering people?”

"No! No, of course not."

"Then what? What could possibly be so terrible, Eds?"

"I've been... I've been stealing."

"Stealing? Like stealing from me?"

"No! No, never; I'd never. Just like- like from stores and stuff."

"So....so why would I hate you for that?"

"Because it’s...it’s a horrible thing to do!"

"I mean, it's pretty bad, but it doesn’t make you, like, the worst person alive, Eds. It's okay. I'll try to help you stop, if you want."

"I- I don’t think you can."

"I'll just hold both of your hands every time we go to a store so you can’t lift anything. Seems pretty foolproof."

"Shut up, Richie. How would we even walk like that anyway?"

"We could manage! You’d just walk in front of me, and I'd hold your hands like a little baby elephant holding onto momma’s tail. Doesn’t seem too hard."

"You’d flat tire me with your giant feet."

"It’s the price you've gotta pay for my intervention services, sticky fingers. Take it or leave it."

"Leave it, definitely. We'd look ridiculous."

"We always look fucking ridiculous, and it’s never stopped you before," Richie laughs, and wraps an arm around Eddie's shoulders. Eddie leans into it, allowing Richie to pull him down until he’s almost lying against his chest, and Eddie wants so badly to resist or stop this, but he’s just so tired and it feels so nice to be held.

"How are you feeling?" Richie asks softly after a moment. Eddie almost forgot why he was here in the first place.

"Okay. Better. It hurts really bad and it’s gonna be really sore while it’s healing, but I guess I learned my lesson."

"So you're gonna stop?"

Eddie shifts his legs. "I mean, y-yeah, I'm gonna try. I'll never- never this bad again, I promise."

"Please, please don’t hesitate to call me, okay? I mean it."

"I know."

"Do you wanna come over for dinner?"

"I don’t think I could walk there."

"I could ride you double on my bike."

"Richie, your bike barely fits you anymore, let alone both of us. I'll be fine. You can go home and eat and stuff, I'll be okay. You've done more than enough."

Richie bites his lip in thought, then stands and goes out into the hallway.

"What are you doing?" Eddie calls out hesitantly after a few moments go by. Richie pops his head back in the doorway with the phone pressed to his ear.

"Hey butt breath, tell mom I'm not gonna be home for dinner, okay? Eddie needs help with his project still and I'm just gonna stay here until we finish."

Eddie frantically shakes his head, his eyes going wide. Richie waves him off.

"I don’t have to pay you to relay a fucking message, turd," Richie laughs into the phone, then hangs up on Piper.

"Why did you do that?" Eddie asks gently, and Richie brushes him off.

"I don't want to leave you alone right now. Besides, mom made pork chops, and I hate those."

"You shouldn’t miss dinner," Eddie replies softly.

"Neither should you, hot shot. Do you guys have anything to eat here?"

"Uh…n-no, not really. Just um. Just some snacks. But nothing that I'm really supposed to eat, other than some granola bars and cereal. Ma usually goes grocery shopping today but, um, she had to go down to the church, so...."

"So… I'm gonna order a pizza, I guess," Richie shrugs, dialing another number into the phone.

"No! No, Rich- I don’t have any money, and- and-”

"It’s cool; I got it."

"No, please. Please don’t, okay? Don’t spend any more money on me. I already owe you for the bandages, and-”

"Eddie, chill. It's cool. I saved up my lunch money, and mom gave me my allowance early, so no worries. I just don’t think I'll be able to spot you for the movies this weekend, but I'm sure Bill will instead," Richie shrugs, and Eddie wants to keep fighting.

He wants to argue, and say no, and tell Richie to just go home and be with his family like he should be. His normal, functioning family, who would probably still love him if he were gay. Sometimes Eddie lets himself think that they’d still love him, too.

But he doesn’t say anything else, because Richie is already on the phone ordering a large pepperoni pizza, and Eddie figures he can let Richie stay, just this once. He can be weak just this once, because he’s not sure that Richie will always want to be his friend if he ever finds out about Eddie’s biggest secret, and he wants to have as many happy memories with Richie as he can to keep in his heart, in case that day ever comes.

**Author's Note:**

> well i hope that didn't put a giant damper on this au for everyone uwu haha i'm really anxious anyway tell me what you think


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